


First Serve

by thymogenic



Category: Adam (2009), Charlie Countryman (2013), Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom, Spacedogs - Fandom
Genre: Adam Has Longer Hair, Age Play, And a Cute Tennis Outfit, Awesome Dirty Talk, Cheesy Innuendos, Coach!Nigel, Deep fucking, Flirting, General Unabashed Fun, M/M, Making Out, Objectification, Oh and Knee-Socks, Rimming, Seduction, Sexual Roleplay, Sports Kink, Talk of Treating Women as Sexual Objects, Tennis, The Curls!, Virgin!Adam, Virginity Kink, but not really, massage oil as lube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 05:51:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7087774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thymogenic/pseuds/thymogenic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam and Nigel have been together for a while now, living in domestic bliss in Adam's Manhattan apartment. Recently, Nigel has taken to playing and coaching tennis again, reviving an old hobby from when he still had free time as a youngster and didn't have to worry too much about offing troublesome competitors and maximizing profit margins in the Romanian drug trade.</p><p>Their sex life is amazing, a result of the blazing combination of Nigel's experienced, confident, and enthusiastic sexual style, with Adam's straightforward, exploratory, and, sometimes, downright inventive approach to sensuality. After finding out some lurid details about a secret past fetish of Nigel's, Adam devises a fun new sport for the two of them to play.</p><p>Game. Set. Match.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Serve

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Llewcie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llewcie/gifts).



> Incredible, adorable, sexy fanart by the amazing [brokendeathangel](http://brokendeathangel.deviantart.com/art/Tennis-614839471?ga_submit_new=10%253A1465726036)! Also on [tumblr.](http://brokendeathangel.tumblr.com)

 

[ ](http://brokendeathangel.tumblr.com/post/145797898379/oh-yissss-adam-in-cute-tennis-wear-this-is)

Nigel wakes in the middle of the night; something is different. Lying on his left side, eyes still closed, he reaches out with his right hand to feel for his spaceman. He grasps into the white sheets and finds them cool to the touch, starkly empty of the soft body usually in this space. He sits up abruptly in bed and glances at the digital clock’s glowing red numbers on the side table: 2:54 AM. “Adam?” he calls out gently. No answer.

With a groan he turns his body so his legs hit the floor and then he’s up and walking out of the room clad only in his white boxers. A faint glow emanates down the hallway, originating from the kitchen. It is very odd for Adam to be up at this hour, so Nigel goes to investigate. He then peeks his head into the kitchen to find Adam at the table drinking tea and watching videos on his laptop.

Voice still raspy from having just woken up in the middle of a deep sleep, Nigel asks Adam, “What are you doing, darling?” He’s got in earphones playing the film’s audio so he doesn’t hear Nigel at first, and startles a bit when his form comes into view.

Adam pauses the movie immediately and pulls the earphones out. “Sorry, Nigel. I didn’t hear you.”

Nigel drinks in the image of Adam, wearing tight dark gray boxer-briefs that hug every bit of his lower anatomy, and a tight white t-shirt, and suddenly he’s not so sleepy. Nigel gets down on his knees, torso level with the seat of the chair where Adam is sitting and off to its side. He brings his arms up to hug around Adam’s waistline, and rests his head in his lap, breathing in deep Adam’s clean, masculine scent. His fingers dip into the waistband of the briefs, and he asks, “When did you buy these, darling? They’re absolutely sinful.”

Adam begins stroking Nigel’s messy hair, a curious expression on his face, “Do you like them?”

Nigel snaps the waistband against the skin on Adam’s hip a couple of times before replying. “But of course. You look delicious in anything.”

An appreciative smile, small but still there, creeps across Adam’s face, “I thought they looked younger than the ones I used to wear.”

Nigel’s head pops up, and concern paints his brow, “Adam, are you still thinking about what I said the other day? Because, I promise that’s not what I want from you. You’re perfect the way you are and I will still feel that way as time goes by. It was just a phase, really.”

Adam doesn’t want to lie, so instead he deflects by answering Nigel’s question only partially. “I know that, Nigel.”

Nigel’s expression softens, “You promise, darling?”

Adam smiles. “I promise.”

Nigel then looks at Adam’s computer screen. He’s paused it precisely on a night scene, where the characters are out of sight. Nigel assumes it’s another space documentary. “Don’t stay up too late watching this stuff. You’ll be absolutely spent tomorrow if you don’t get the amount of sleep you’re used to.”

“Yes, Nigel.”

Nigel pries himself from Adam, and stands up to go back to bed. He walks away, but stops at the kitchen doorway and looks back at Adam, sighing with adoration. Then, he gives a gentle smile before disappearing into the darkness of the hallway.

Adam pops the earphones back in and starts playing the movie again, watching the actors on screen intently. A young blonde girl is out with a much older man, and they are sitting in the front seats of a classic car parked on a scenic mountain road overlooking the city lights below. The man grips the steering wheel tightly, seemingly trying to control himself from reaching out to touch the pretty thing next to him, just within reach. Then, the man is barely able to move any slower as he pounces on the inexperienced girl, who puts out her arms in front of herself in defense. _'I’ve never done this before…'_ she meekly whispers.

Adam takes mental notes of her speech style and movements, filing it away for later use. Then, he lets out a big yawn and decides it’s time to turn in. He closes the laptop and stands, walking his tea mug over to the sink to put in and be washed in the morning.

He rests his hands on the edge of the counter for a moment, looking absently into the chrome of the sink, Nigel’s words from a few days before haunting him, _'It was always fun to try to bed them…Being the first; making my mark and all that.'_

He thinks about what a terrible thing Nigel had done. The objectification. The using. The entitlement. He scoffs a bit out loud and wonders to himself what it must take to be so cruelly dense.

Then, he thinks about how all those girls must have felt, unfledged and unused, meeting a younger, over confident version of the man he now loved and cohabited with. He must have been quite something, brash and charming and handsome. He imagines the excitement they must have felt, the anticipation of experiencing something new. What thrill there must have been, learning carnal pleasures which were forbidden to them, and all from someone a bit older who knew exactly what he was doing. He imagines the shame of it all that might have come afterwards…it intermingles with the excitement, producing a unique compound of emotions that proves quite arousing while stepping into that state of mind. That warm feeling creeps into his gut then travels deep into the lowest part of him, and he decides then and there that this is the new thing he wants to investigate. Also, he feels a stab of sympathy for Nigel. He could feel the genuine repentance in his words. He hates that this thing won’t leave him and he wants to instead transform it into something clean and playful. Yes, this type of situation should be relegated to fantasy and nowhere else. It has no place out in the real world doing harm. Let them take it into their own, and make something joyful and sexy out of it.

 

***

Three days previous, and Nigel is sitting at the end of their brown and ocher sofa, cold beer can gripped in a fist, his legs spread wide in exaggerated machismo; his knees bounce up and down in delight while watching the match of the season on TV. “Fuck! Serena's always starting out sluggishly, don't you think, darling?” Graying, dirty blonde locks partially obscure his eyes, and he cocks his head a bit to the left while waiting for Adam's reply. He's wearing his favorite shirt, the blue one with little wiener dogs all over (beloved for being what he was wearing when they first met), a silver chain bracelet dangling off his right wrist, and comfy house pants in a dark color draped over long, toned legs.

“I don't really watch tennis, you know that Nigel,” Adam says, the latest issue of Scientific American spread across the dark khaki fabric of his lap and open to an article about a pending satellite project that would chart threatening asteroids in our solar system, if only NASA could get it funded. Adam looks up at the TV screen, trying to keep up with the whizzing back-and-forth of the optic yellow ball against the hard blue courts of the Australian Open, as the grunting goddess rivals of tennis start their first game. Sharapova's speed is outmaneuvering Williams for the time being, but as the day will prove in the end, it's ultimately no match for her opponent's power serve and stamina.

Adam is as lovely as ever, dressed in a light green dress shirt that matches certain hues of his eyes. Brown wavy curls halo his head, longer now since Nigel began encouraging him to grow them out. _'Makes you look younger; positively angelic,'_ Nigel had chirped. Adam had experienced a peculiarly positive response to the praise and so had ceased cutting his hair.

Taking a sip, Nigel remembers to inform Adam of some news from work before it slips his mind, “I forgot to mention, that Saturday private is canceled for now. So, I'll be home every weekend. The client changed their mind; probably found a coach for cheaper at another sports center...”

Adam doesn't look up right away, a little bit immersed in the article he was reading, but then something Nigel said before pops into his brain. “Really? I remember you saying how much you were looking forward to teaching private lessons again; too many 'spoiled yuppie couples' in doubles' sessions, you said. Are you disappointed?”

Nigel doesn’t take his eyes off the game, but answers, “I am, but, if I'm being honest with you, it's mostly due to nostalgia rather than fucking yuppie doubles. Though, those still often drive me to utter petulance by the end of a shift.” Nigel's eyes are glued to the screen, and his fist shoots up triumphantly after Serena nails a singularly dominant serving ace. “Shit, Serena's getting back into it now!”

Adam's ears wiggle as he raises his eyebrows, “Nostalgia?”

Waving a hand in the air to dismiss his previous statement, Nigel continues looking at the TV and he says, “It's nothing, darling, really.”

Adam cannot just drop this chain of thought – his interest is piqued. “I'm curious about your past, Nigel. Please tell me. You talked briefly about why you wanted to get this tennis coach job at the center in the first place, but I genuinely want to know what would make you nostalgic about private coaching, now that you've mentioned it.” Adam closes his magazine to better focus on what his boyfriend is saying.

Nigel mutes the TV. He pauses a bit before speaking. “It's silly really,” Nigel says, stroking the back of his neck and looking down at the carpet. “I was honestly feeling really ambivalent about it...both wanting to feel the nostalgia of my youth and also...feeling ashamed of it.” Nigel hopes this is sufficient, but he knows from Adam’s body language that this won’t be dropped until he’s fully explained himself.

So, he goes on, “You know what a really terrible man I was before Adam, selfish and brutal and vile, really, when I was enjoying my criminal enterprise phase. Before then, I wasn't much better. A total cad, I was. In my early twenties, I had gotten quite good at tennis after playing all through high school, and so I had a part-time gig doing private tutors for rich daddy's girls on the weekends to make extra cash. They were almost always young, inexperienced; virgins even,” Nigel pauses to take a sip from his beer, expression almost morose. Shameful, he deliberately avoids turning and making eye contact with Adam.

Continuing, “It was always fun to try to bed them. They would resist and resist, feigning modesty and diligence…I was just trying to stroke my own pathetic ego, really. Being the first; making my mark and all that. I was very young and stupid and cruel.”

Adam's face contorts in failed comprehension, “So, wait, you were feeling nostalgic about dispassionately taking young girls' virginities?”

At that, Nigel turns fast and looks into Adam's eyes, face pleading for understanding, arms waving in a frantic gesture, “It's not so much that part...just...the prospect of this private tutor made me anticipate remembering what it would feel like to be young again. I swear, no lechery intended...well, maybe minimal imagined lechery...but darling, you're it for me really, and I wasn't looking for extra stimulation, I just thought it would be fun to kind of live those days again, minus the deflowering disgustingness...”

Nigel's face is worried. He's afraid he's been too honest and will upset Adam and completely disillusion him. He should have just left it at the yuppie double nonsense, and now he's admitted to even darker aspects of himself that he's worked very hard to change and forget.

Adam's face is inscrutable as he replies, “So...you have a thing for virgins?”

Nigel is starting to flush now from embarrassment. He totally fucking regrets opening any of this up. “Maybe a little, Adam. But that's just one of many concepts that I find arousing. I like the fantasy aspect of it. I don't actually find the idea of dating very young girls and guys appealing, not in the least. What would we talk about? Would there be any real sexual chemistry after the initial rush of conquest faded? I highly doubt it. And besides, it's all ridiculous conjecture – I have you. I love you. I only want you, Adam.”

“I know that Nigel, I was just asking in a general sense.” Adam reaches a hand out to touch Nigel's face, trying to reassure him that's he's not disturbed, but instead simply trying to process this new revelation. Years together have taught him to be physically comforting when his partner appears to be upset.

Nigel leans his face into Adam's hand, and places his own on top. Then, he scoots closer to Adam and wraps his strong arms around Adam's lithe figure. He brings his face close to Adam’s head, and noses into his brown curls, breathing in the familiar scent of his beloved. “So, you're not disappointed in me?”

Adam puts his head on Nigel's shoulder and presses more deeply into their cuddle, “No. You've explained yourself and I think I understand.”

Nigel brightens up inside, filled with relief. “Good! Thank God, Adam. I was really worried that you'd think less of me. May I return to my tennis match now, gorgeous?” Adam nods. Nigel turns away a little and then unmutes the TV, just as Serena is challenging a call on one of Sharapova’s returns. Adam doesn’t go back to his magazine – he sits and ruminates on Nigel’s previous statements, thinking about what they mean to him.

 

***

Two and a half weeks later, and Nigel’s cell phone is ringing and ringing, annoying the fuck out of him. He snarls and curses as his eyes squint in the early morning light seeping through the slits of their window blinds, trying to visually locate it. He realizes he’s gonna have to get up to find it, so he disentangles himself from lovely limbs, stealing a kiss to the side of Adam’s thigh as he gets up and stumbles out of bed.

“FUCKING SHIT!” Nigel stubs a toe on the corner of the bed frame, and brings his foot up to coddle the painful phalange while he hops around on the undamaged foot. Then, he’s grabbing his jeans from the back of the desk chair in their room and retrieving the shrieking cunt from the back pocket. He answers, dragging the green button on the touch screen, “Hello?”

Adam has awoken amongst the klaxon of Nigel’s morning comedy routine, but does not stir. He listens, giddy for what he knows must be transpiring over the phone.

“Mm hmm…oh, really?” Nigel fishes his cigarettes out of another pocket and brings one to sit in his mouth. His speech is nearly unintelligible as he mumbles around the filter of his Marlboro Red, “Okay, what time?” Then he’s walking down the hall, phone wedged between his shoulder and neck, lighter in one hand, scratching his balls with another. He goes to the balcony to smoke and talk, and Adam can no longer hear him, but, he knows his plan is now set in motion.

Later, over cereal in the kitchen, the two men barely speak, but their bare feet caress each other mindlessly under the table. Nigel loves these quiet times; nothing needs to be said as they go about their morning routines. The familiarity is warm and enveloping, and he feels as though he will never tire of it. What a lucky son of a bitch he turned out to be. He doesn’t want to break the silence now, especially since it is to bring announcement of a change in their Saturday routine. He hates to give Adam a cause for anxiety, but it can’t be helped.

“Gorgeous, I’ve got to go in to work today.” Nigel’s voice is soft, speaking as gently as he can to deliver the news. Adam looks up from his bowl of cereal, an affected look of disappointment painted across his face. He had been practicing for this moment, and is now trying hard to contain his joy as he successfully dissembles.

“But you don’t work on weekends, Nigel.”

“I know darling, but the center called this morning and they’ve got a private lesson booked for me after lunch. I have to take it.” Nigel feels guilty, considering the secret he spilled a couple weeks ago. He takes Adam’s hand in his, reaching across their kitchen table, “I’m sorry to give you such short notice. I promise to behave myself while I’m away. Now I’ve got to have a shower and get ready.” Nigel stands, grabbing his cereal to take and wash in the sink.

Once Nigel has left the room and is out of sight, Adam smiles a bit in excitement and does the same with his own bowl of cereal, before going into the living room to finish researching for the afternoon’s dramatic exercise with a cheesy 90’s movie relevant to today’s performance.

 

***

Nigel parks his white Benz in the parking lot of the Central Park Tennis Center, and emerges already dressed in his tennis outfit. The darkly colored pin-up tattoo on the left side of his neck stands out in stark contrast against his cream climachill tennis polo and shorts set. He goes to the trunk to pull out his bag and then makes his way to the office just to the side of the immaculately maintained clay courts trimmed in green chain-link fencing.

After putting his stuff away into the locker room, he goes to the counter to check on his private tutor scheduled, which happens to be the last one of the day. The registration sheet lists a Brian Smith, age seventeen, with zero tennis experience.

 _'This day is gonna be easy as pie_ ,' he thinks to himself _,‘Just introduce the basics and have him practicing til’ his shoulders ache_.’

Then, the manager on shift that day mentions to him that she has to leave early to pick up her son and leaves the key to the office with him, just in case the other instructors go home first, since their classes finish up earlier than his.

Next, Nigel goes behind the office to have one last smoke before he has to bear going without for the next couple of hours. Taking a few drags, he then whips his phone out of his pocket to put it on vibrate and also to text Adam, recalling the flavor of his sweet mouth as they kissed good-bye on Nigel's way out the door: _I miss the taste of you already._

He puts his phone away, tosses the butt, and straightens out his clothes to go to court twenty-six, down at the very end, racket and a tube of balls in tow.

Walking past the other courts he sees that they are all taken, with various groups of people playing singles and doubles on their own, and some beginning group classes, with instructors, getting lessons. They are mostly middle-aged women out with their friends for a new Saturday afternoon experience, there to gawk and giggle at the muscly tennis pros making extra dough when they aren’t playing regular games. Nigel is glad to be away from all that. He doesn’t need grabby Manhattan housewives to babysit all day – hasn’t got the fucking patience. Then he suddenly has a thought, _please don’t let this teenage boy be pretty…_

Nigel comes up to the court to find his new pupil waiting for him and _oh no,_ not only is he the most gorgeous fucking creature he’s ever laid eyes on, but he is also a familiar face.

Adam sits on a bench at the end of the court. He has brushed his curls in such a way as to make them even more unruly than usual. They hang in his face when the breeze is not tussling them about. His jaw is freshly shaven, imitating the effect of adolescent skin still unable to produce facial hair. He’s dressed so immaculately it’s practically obscene, as the tennis get-up he sought out looks more vintage costume than sportswear: he’s got on tennis shoes (with smooth flat soles conforming to the rules of the tennis center, so as to maintain their clay courts), knee high sports socks, scandalously-short tennis shorts, and a tennis shirt with long sleeves, all glowing in bright white cotton. The shirt is adorned simply with two navy v-lines going down the chest a few inches below the neck line. He makes eye contact with Nigel, and immediately stands up. His gait is almost awkward, emulating the stages of youth where one is still growing into their body, and he moves toward Nigel, hand extended for a shake, a teasing smile playing at wanton cherry lips.

And Nigel, seeing this vision before him, is struck speechless. All he can do is wear a big goofy grin and try to keep from getting a boner in front of the entire tennis center. He manages to stick out his hand to return Adam’s hand shake, but still says nothing.

Adam speaks first. “Hello, you must be my instructor, Nigel. I’m Brian. Nice to meet you.”

Is this real? Has Adam really gone to all this trouble to create a fake alter-ego just to schedule this private lesson with him? And why…why would he… _holy shit,_ Nigel realizes, _this is some kind of role-play!_ Adam is playing with the dirty secret he revealed a couple weeks previous.

Now, they’ve done some cute role-plays before, buying doctor’s and nurse’s outfits, also teacher and student, but nothing this...theatrical. They'd usually dress up and banter comically a bit in their roles, but they would always end up ripping their clothes off quickly before ravaging each other in their typical manner. It had usually been Adam’s idea to do them in the first place, too. He’d do research about these whims of his and prepare accordingly, always eager to spice up their bedroom life. Nigel loved how new Adam always made him feel, and the excitement never wavered in their erotic endeavors. But, this is the first time it’s happening to cater to one of Nigel’s fantasies (unfortunately, one he is ashamed of having).

Not to be mistaken that Nigel didn’t love every fucking second of everything they’ve done together in the past, but this is special. Adam is single-handedly elevating a place deep and tainted in Nigel’s memory to something fresh and safe for them to play around with, and he's doing it so thoroughly.

“Brian, huh?” Nigel is still grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. Then, trying to present a cool composure, he relaxes his smile and begins flirting, diving head first into their private spectacle. “The pleasure is entirely mine,” he purrs, drawing out the word 'pleasure' for greater effect.

'Brian' licks his lips before biting the bottom one, drawing Nigel's attention where he wants it. He lowers his eyes demurely before moving the conversation onward, “Umm...Should I stretch first? I've never done this before.” That last sentence sends a little quiver up Nigel's spine – he is loving this already.

With a smug smile playing at his lips, he replies, “You're right, let me take you through some that are best before a practice or match.” Nigel gestures with an outstretched arm for 'Brian' to move closer to the center of that half of the court. 'Brian' takes cue and moves to where he should be.

“Okay first we'll start with some dynamic stretches to get your muscles moving in a way that will properly prepare them for the movements of tennis. This is called a high-step trunk rotation and it will really loosen up all your upper body muscles. Watch me.” Nigel steps away from him a little and, with arms bent inward and fists on his chest, he begins by bringing his right knee up high while rotating his trunk to the right. He repeats it on the left side, and switches again and again until he figures 'Brian' has got it. “Okay? Now you try.”

'Brian' mimics Nigel's movements flawlessly a few times, before asking, voice affectedly unsure, eyes begging for encouragement beneath lush eyelashes, “Like this?”

' _Why is Adam so good at acting this young?'_ Nigel thinks to himself. A brief and lascivious image flashes into his mind of Adam on his knees, lips parted, cheeks flushed, and curls dampened with sweat, sweetly uttering the innocent question again – _'Like this?'_ Nigel physically shakes the mental picture away with a brief back and forth of his head. He collects himself before replying, trying to keep up his end of the game. “Perfect. I can see that you're quite flexible. Do you do other sports in your free time?” Nigel says, his voice sweet and thick like honey.

“Oh not really sports, but my old man at home has always got me bent over backwards in some kind of physical activity or another.” Nigel nearly gasps in surprise and he tries desperately to not think of all those times he'd seen Adam bent over and shivering in immense pleasure, Nigel's name dripping from kiss-swollen lips.

Meanwhile, 'Brian' can hardly hide the smirk begging to release itself at his successful use of a double entendre. He so rarely plays with language, and thus has been practicing by watching tacky porno flicks while Nigel is away.

Nigel composes himself again but can't help thinking, ' _Wait, did Adam just drop a cheesy line?'_ Nigel is definitely entertained. He doesn't know whether to be happy or not about being referred to as Adam's 'old man', but he appreciates the wicked humor in Adam's quip. This playfulness is very sexy, if not merely novel. It's something he has never heard before from his lovely paramour.

'Brian' continues the stretching then, but alters it a little by pulling his body deeper into the motions, extending his arm out and away, following the direction he's moving in. This pulls his shirt up higher, so that a sliver of pale flesh entices with each movement. Adam is having fun being a deliberate tease. It is not lost on Nigel, who steals quick glances, and whose thoughts are getting more and more lascivious by the second.

Several rotations later and Nigel knows it's time to move on. “Okay, that's enough. Now let's do some crossover lunges. Watch me again, please.”

Nigel moves his right foot first and takes a wide step across his body, then steps slightly forward with his left, moving into a quarter squat. His leg muscles flex as he moves, and 'Brian' watches the lines and shadows dancing across tan skin as sinew undulates beneath with power. Some erotic images float into his own head, lusting after the excellent shape his private tennis coach's body is in. He recalls nights spent together alone, watching Nigel's muscles coil in ecstasy in the reflection of their bedroom mirror, as he made slow, deep love to Adam, whispering heartfelt words of adoration into his ear. The images play briefly in his mind as Nigel repeats it on the left, then asks, snapping Adam out of his revelry, “Do you see how I did that?” 'Brian' shakes his head – he'd been distracted. “Can you show me some more, please?”

“Sure, no problem.” Then Nigel completes the lunges in several repetitions, and seeing the movement all together makes Adam suddenly think of something else entirely. 'Brian' giggles a bit onto the back of his hand, now juxtaposing the image of what the stretch reminded him of with his private coach's manly form, “It looks like you're curtsying, Nigel.”

Nigel chuckles back, “Oh, yeah? Then it should look much less uncomely when you do it, gorgeous. Try doing ten on each side. That should be sufficient.”

Before 'Brian' begins, Nigel quickly steps behind him, ready for the unrivaled view of what he knows the quarter squat portion of the stretch will soon afford him. 'Brian' starts, replicating Nigel's movement just as precisely as before, and Nigel makes sure to take in the pert bottom bending over repeatedly in front of him. 'Brian's' already scanty tennis shorts also begin riding up higher and higher as he continues and Nigel stares lecherously then at exposed thighs.

Finally, after doing twenty of these racy motions, 'Brian' stops and turns to face Nigel, who's been behind him the whole time. His face is pink in the cheeks from the exertion, and a light dewy sheen of perspiration clings to the edges of his face. He sees the way Nigel is looking at him, and hopes that he has been doing it the entire duration. It feels so good to be gazed upon in this way for him; he is enjoying the objectification that comes with this role.

Nigel is also really enjoying this. He can feel the amount of effort Adam is putting into his character, into this charade put on for him and enjoyed with him, and it makes him feel loved and cherished. The guilty arousal of all this lechery is just bonus points. He intends to make the most out of this experience for the both of them. He begins by referring to him as ‘Brian’ mentally, and he himself takes on that role of lusty private tennis instructor in his mind.

“You have a very nice physique, ‘Brian’. I bet you have all the girls at school chasing you around wherever you go.” Nigel smiles with his eyes and keeps strong eye contact with ‘Brian’, asserting a dominant position.

'Brian' feels the stare right into the back of his head and he shudders, before becoming coy again, “You really think so? But to be honest, it’s not so much the _girls_ that I’m interested in these days.” ‘Brian’ starts kicking at a pebble as he breaks eye contact from Nigel to look chastely at the ground.

“Oh no? Then what occupies your mind? Art? Mathematics? Science? You seem like a very bright young man.” Nigel’s voice is playful as he deliberately skates around what ‘Brian’ has just stated.

'Brian' laughs genuinely, the corners of his mouth stretching wide in amusement. “If I _were_ interested in girls, I wouldn't have the first clue about what to do about it. I'm not very... experienced. I'd need someone to teach me first.”

Although still aroused, a surge of sentiment rushes up inside of the suddenly tender tennis coach. Nigel looks away for a moment, his hand reaching out to grasp at and play with the upper band of the net bifurcating the court. Then, he looks back to Adam, genuine affection in his eyes, and he's dead serious as he speaks, “Whoever would get the chance to teach you, I'm sure, would be the luckiest person on Earth.” Adam feels the words in his heart of hearts and he's suddenly tempted to just drop the whole act and jump into Nigel's embrace. Thankfully, Nigel breaks the moment and changes the subject, not wanting to finish this ruse just yet, “Come on, now, 'Brian', let's see if we can't teach you some proper hits for the time being, instead. Did you bring your gear?”

'Brian' nods and goes to his sports bag sitting on the nearby bench. He bought a cheaper brand racket since he didn't plan on playing that often after today's lark. He brings it back with him as he walks back over to Nigel, who has retrieved his own, much, much nicer racket.

“Okay, we ought to practice your forehand, but you'll need to learn how to grip properly first. There are a few ways of doing this but, I think the Western grip will do just fine. It's a little awkward initially, and hard to master, but, I promise you, you won't regret having learned it earlier on when you're devastating your opponents with some excellent top spin in your ground strokes as you improve.” 'Brian' grins at the notion of devastating anyone in any sport ever – he has never been into sports and doesn't intend to be.

Nigel then brings up the handle of the racket and gestures for 'Brian' to do the same. He points at the butt of the handle while speaking, “You see that the grip forms a sloppy octagon?” 'Brian' nods. “What you want to do now is place the palm side of your index finger's knuckle against the fifth bevel of the racket handle – here.” Nigel points at the spot he's talking about. “Then, just let the rest of your fingers and palm follow to wrap around the handle, like so.” Nigel then grips the handle for 'Brian' to see. “Now you try.”

'Brian' tries his best to do it correctly, and, when he fails, Nigel puts down his own racket to come and help. Using both his hands, he manipulates 'Brian's' fingers to where they need to be. 'Brian' feels electrified at the sudden physical contact, and he blushes intensely, all the way down beneath his collar. This is no act. He is genuinely bashful, and he never expected to be so wholly involved in this character he had created. This game is becoming more fun by the minute.

Nigel notices, and so jests cheekily, “I'm sure you've gripped _something_ like this before, right?”

'Brian' raises an eyebrow and shoots back, “But of course, and, often.”

The remainder of the lesson goes on in this way, the two teasing each other with as many innuendos as they can, Adam pseudo demurely, Nigel pretty much just being himself. They even get 'Brian' to do an actually decent forehand after spending some time slowly hitting the ball back and forth over the net.

Finally, as the lesson comes to a close, the sky starts to get more overcast, so most of the other players and instructors leave to go home, the nice weather of the day all used up. Nigel and 'Brian' loiter around a little longer than necessary, not yet ready for the day to end, but eventually Nigel knows it has to.

“Well, I think that was a very productive first day. I hope you'll keep at it. Come and see me again anytime,” he says, his voice pleasant.

“Thank you, Nigel...I had a lot of fun. But...can I stick around in the office for a little while? I'm not ready to go walk to the bus stop just yet,” 'Brian' says, before taking a sip from his water bottle.

Nigel looks over at the parking lot. All of the cars belonging to the other employees are gone except his. He feels around in his pocket, remembering the office key. _Perfect._

“Of course, come and rest for a while before heading home. I'll get you a Powerade while we're at it,” he says, before standing up and gathering up his gear. 'Brian' follows suit and brings his bag with him, following Nigel down the courts and then over to the office.

Once inside, Nigel has 'Brian' sit down on some of the chairs in the reception area. He goes back into the locker room to leave his racket and balls and then pulls out a couple of drinks for them from the staff refrigerator. While Nigel is away, 'Brian' has a look around to see if anyone is still there. Miraculously, the place is empty, and he makes the split-second decision to make a play here and now, right in Nigel's place of employ.

Moments later, Nigel comes out of the locker room to find 'Brian's' things on the chair where he left him but no sight of his pupil in the main area. “'Brian'?” he calls out.

“I'm back here, Nigel!” 'Brian' answers.

Nigel follows the sound of his voice to a storage room on the opposite side of the small building. When he gets to the door, two bottles of cool beverage in hand, he is greeted with a singularly delectable sight.

'Brian' is sitting on top of a long table, eyes hooded with lust. “What are you doing back he....” Nigel's brain cuts his words off as 'Brian' takes off his shirt and tosses it on the floor as soon as they make eye contact. Both bottles drop on the floor with a dull thump and then roll toward the wall. Nigel swallows visibly, his Adam's apple bouncing up and down along the length of his throat.

In a pleading, breathy, low voice, 'Brian' beckons him near, “You've taught me so much today, Nigel. Won't you come over here and teach me some more? Perhaps we can see if I've mastered that Western grip yet?”

' _Holy fuck,'_ thinks Nigel. And he is instantly rock fucking hard in his tennis shorts.

He walks toward 'Brian' slowly, not wanting to seem too eager, although the erection tenting in his shorts betrays him with every sway as he moves. He gets up real close to him. He can smell the sweat of their practice mingled with the familiar scent of this lovely vision – it's intoxicating. “Are you sure about this 'Brian'? Don't you want to do this with someone special?”

Adam breaks character for a moment, his features softening, “Nigel, there's no one else on Earth I'd rather be doing this with.” They gaze at each other knowingly, endearment radiating strong between them. Then Adam goes back to being 'Brian', trying to sound seductive, “Anyway, I think you'd be the best person to teach me things. You seem so...knowledgeable.”

Nigel giggles like a kid in a candy store, then bridges the gap between them, and begins kissing 'Brian' slowly. Their lips do not part just yet, but instead brush up against each other exploratorily. Adam does his best to kiss sloppily, like he doesn't know every micrometer of Nigel's mouth by heart, and his performance is very believable. He does not kiss back eagerly, but rather takes Nigel's lead gingerly, sometimes parroting the older man's movements. He mostly just lets himself be kissed, and the feeling is extraordinary and new. He had forgotten what it felt like the first time someone had kissed him, and he doubts it could have been any better than this.

Lust spurring him on, Nigel starts to kiss more aggressively. He gives open mouthed kisses to this beautiful being pressed up against him, letting the slick, smooth insides of their lips brush against each other in delicious friction. 'Brian' moans a bit at the progression, so Nigel takes this cue to start using his tongue. He slowly eases it into 'Brian', shyly licking into his soft mouth and against his tongue. 'Brian' begins to mimic his movements, and it's not long before the two are kissing deeply, their tongues at war in a bid for control of the other's mouth. 'Brian' and Nigel both moan muffled into the kiss, and they are both painfully erect in their shorts.

Nigel breaks the kiss and begins sucking at the skin along 'Brian's' jawline, up to his ear, which he nibbles on and sucks and breaths lustily into.

The sensation is driving 'Brian' wild, “Oh, Nigel, this feels so amazing. I didn't know that it could be like this.”

Nigel lets out a throaty laugh, “Darling, we're just getting started.”

With that, Nigel begins kissing his way downward. He kisses at 'Brian's' neck, and then his collarbone, stopping to nip and kiss into his suprasternal notch. Then he licks openly at the exposed skin of his chest down more and more, to his pert, dark nipples. Nigel sucks loudly on them, and 'Brian' squirms beneath him, panting.

Next, Nigel stands and says, “'Brian', why don't we take these off?” He hooks his index and middle fingers of both hands into the elastic waistband, but does not pull on it until 'Brian' emphatically nods yes. 'Brian' lifts his hips to help out, his erection springing free as the shorts move down from his waist, to his thighs, and then all the way down, over wicked knee socks, and off his legs. Nigel tosses them to the ground. Stepping back, he looks at every inch of 'Brian', from his beautiful knee-socked feet and calves, to his tempting thighs, to the jut of his cock leaking in arousal. He looks at his hairless chest rising and falling in quick movements, the nipples contracted and raised in the cool air of the storage room. He looks at his pretty face, utterly debauched yet deceivingly innocent. Then, he comes up close to the table before squatting down so that his face is near the edge, right in the private space between 'Brian's' legs. “Can I taste you down here?” Nigel asks as he brushes his right hand fingertips up against the lovely boy's perineum.

Feigning ignorance, 'Brian' inquires, “You want to put your mouth...there?”

Nigel strokes the soft area of skin as he speaks, “Just try it. If you don't like it, just say so and I'll stop.”

“Okay, Nigel...I trust you,” 'Brian' answers timidly.

“Please, lay back,” says Nigel and 'Brian' complies. Once he is on his back, Nigel lifts his dangling feet up onto the table and then, placing both of his hands to the backs of 'Brian's' thighs, pushes his legs back and up. Nigel's virgin pupil is now spread wide open this way, vulnerable and trembling in anticipation of Nigel's rimming. 'Brian' closes his eyes and waits, long moments going by, only the sound of their heightened breathing filling the space.

Suddenly, Nigel brings his face near, eyes appraising of the delectable skin surrounding 'Brian's' most intimate place. He starts exhaling hot onto the sensitive skin of 'Brian's' hole. The sensation is tickling and teasing. 'Brian' gasps at it. Nigel does this for a few moments, before sticking his tongue out to lap gently at the puckered flesh. He does this until he can feel the tissue there slowly relaxing, and then he starts to give wide, open mouthed sucks there too.

“Oh my god, Nigel. That's so good!” And then his little virgin is moaning, louder and louder. He moans every time he feels the wet pressure of a sucking kiss. He moans every time he hears the vulgar slurping noise of wet lips on skin.

Nigel brings a hand up to also massage his balls, then moves his mouth to kiss and lick all around the expanse of surrounding skin. “Are you enjoying your lesson, 'Brian'?” he chuckles before sucking loudly again at 'Brian's' sensitized opening.

'Yes, Nigel! I want to learn more. Please...teach me,” he pleads shamelessly.

“How can I refuse such a polite request? Wait a second. I'm just going into the cabinet for something.” Nigel stands, but makes sure to caress the inside of his eager student's thigh in reassurance. He goes to a cabinet in the storage room, where they keep various sports medical equipment, like first aid kits, analgesic sprays, and massage oils for when there are scheduled sports massages. He pulls out a massage oil bottle labeled safe for body use and brings it back to the table.

“This is not ideal, but it's better than spit,” Nigel says, holding the bottle up for 'Brian' to see. Then he opens the cap and pours a bit onto his right index finger. “Are you ready, 'Brian'? I'm going to put my fingers inside, to make you more comfortable for later.”

“Okay, Nigel.” Then Nigel slowly inserts his digit, causing 'Brian' to gasp at the sensation.

Adam and Nigel have sex pretty regularly, and even though Nigel never skips prepping him before they fuck, Adam has gotten used to a couple of fingers put in deeply and quickly, especially after one of Nigel's excellent rim jobs. In his current state of mind, and with the gentle way in which Nigel treats him, it all feels somewhat unfamiliar after so much time has passed since they first made love. He really likes the shift, the tender treatment.

Nigel begins moving his finger in and out, before bending down to kiss 'Brian' some more. Once he feels some tension ease, he adds another finger, scissoring the digits to further stretch the inner sphincter of 'Brian's' deepest place. He continues this a minute or so, never stopping kissing, before adding a third finger. 'Brian' brings his hands up to fist into the bottom of Nigel's shirt to help center himself as he adjusts to the added stretch. Then, Nigel slowly begins moving the fingers deeper, all the way to the last knuckles, before curving them inward to tickle at his prostate gland. 'Brian' twitches in pleasure, letting out a small, sweet sound somewhere between a laugh and a moan.

'Brian' sufficiently stretched, Nigel breaks the kiss. He pulls down his shorts just enough so that he can pull himself out, but otherwise doesn't remove his shirt or shorts. He's going to fuck fully clothed. He grabs the bottle of oil and pours a generous amount onto himself. Then, hands on either side of 'Brian', he lines up with 'Brian's' entrance, the tip of his dick rubbing at the opening in warning and in promise. He looks at 'Brian' and says, “Breathe, it will help.” Next, he very slowly penetrates, down to the hilt, allowing for 'Brian' to adjust to the deeper stretch and subtle stinging.

Adam thinks back to some of the movies he watched and knows the perfect thing to say: “It hurts, Nigel! It hurts!”

Nigel immediately stills and grasps Adam's face in his hands, “Are you okay, darling!? You want me to take it out?”

Adam sits up quickly, and makes a 'time out' gesture with his hands. “Nigel, we're playing now! I'm supposed to say stuff like that. You ate me out so well, and there's plenty of oil. I'm fine.” And then Adam is laughing and smiling big, feeling silly having to stop everything, but glad that Nigel is concerned for him.

Nigel laughs too. His spaceman is utterly adorable playing his part perfectly, it puts his own acting skills to shame. And, he's happy he didn't actually hurt him. “Okay, I'm sorry. I just wanted to make sure.” He gives Adam a big sloppy open-mouthed kiss, with lots of tongue, just how they like it. Then he pulls off to ask, “But, how do you want me to react when you say that?”

Adam looks to the side, considering the sexiest things he would like to hear, “Hmm, how about you act like you don't care that it hurts? Just keep going and ask me to bear with it?”

Nigel is a bit taken aback, but he gets what Adam is going for with this whole fantasy now. If it's what Adam wants, he will have no problem pretending to be a selfish dick for him. “Okay. Can we try again, then?”

Adam kisses him once more before laying back. Endearingly and enthusiastically, he says, “Aaaaaaand – action!”

Nigel pushes into him all the way again, and pulls out fast, before slamming back in to start a steady, almost punishing, rhythm. 'Brian' cries out, “Oh, it hurts Nigel! It hurts!”

Nigel replies, voice deep with pleasure, nearly grunting, “I'm sorry 'Brian', it's your first time. I promise the next time you do it, it will feel really good.”

 _'Perfect!'_ Adam thinks. The sudden roughness and playful disregard only turn him on more, and he has to put in serious effort to make his moans sound like cries of pain and discomfort. “You're so big, Nigel. Please, move more slowly,” he says in an almost whimper.

“I'm sorry, 'Brian', you're so tight. You feel so good. Just a little bit longer, okay?” Then Nigel leans down and sucks on a nipple as he fucks deep and hard into his deflowered pupil. It's about time to change positions, he thinks. He pulls out and directs, “Ada...er 'Brian', please get down and turn over. I want you from behind.” As 'Brian' moves off the table to stand and bend over it, Nigel adds a little more oil to his dick for good measure.

'Brian' thinks he's in the position Nigel wants of him, but he turns his head back anyway, biting his lip contritely, and asks, _“Like this?”_

' _Unf,_ ' Nigel thinks to himself. He's not going to last much longer with Adam acting this way and asking the one question that does so much to his head and his cock.

“Yes, baby, just like that,” and then Nigel is entering him again. This new angle allows for Nigel to pump into his sweet ass even more deeply, and he knows from years of being together just where to stroke against to drive Adam fucking crazy. Nigel is fucking him so deep now, rubbing up against the nub of his prostate every time, and Adam moans, loud and long.

Next, Nigel drapes himself over Adam's back, grinding deep. He wraps an arm around Adam's neck for closeness and support, then leans his face down next to Adam's ear and teases, “Does it still hurt, baby? You want me to slow down? To be more gentle? To stop?”

Adam turns his head quickly to talk directly to him, begging, “Oh, Nigel, please dear god, don't stop. Fuck me more! Fuck me deeper, please!”

Nigel answers with even deeper, harder thrusts. The sound of their bodies slapping against each other a prurient song played only for them. They kiss more, stealing gasps of air when their movements force their mouths apart.

Soon, Nigel is near the precipice. This whole day has been so arousing, he's astounded he's made it this long. But, he's determined to have Adam coming first, so he brings a hand around to grasp at Adam's hard-on and begins to stroke in time with his movements. It doesn't take much time.

“Nigel, I'm gonna come. I'm gonna come. You feel so good. I'm gonna come!” Adam's face is downward, forehead making contact with the table, hands bracing against the rough movements of Nigel's fucking. He just takes everything and it all feels so good and perfect. Pretending to be a virgin, feeling like he's being fucked for the first time, and not nicely, either. He feels used and objectified and it's all so fucking hot and the more he thinks about it...

Nigel encourages him, “Yes, baby, fucking come. Come right fucking here, onto the floor.”

Adam's orgasm hits him hard; he forgets how to breath for a moment as he paints the concrete floor of the storage room with white hot stripes of seed. “Nigel!” is all he can articulate. Nigel is all he can feel. All he can think about.

And as Adam orgasms, his muscles spasm and contract all around Nigel, and it's all that it takes to have Nigel ready to come as well. “I'm gonna come too, Adam. I'm gonna come all over your fucking gorgeous back.”

Adam loves it when he does that. “Yes, Nigel, please come all over me. Please! It's so sexy when you do that, please.”

Nigel pulls out quickly and uses his hand to bring himself to the very end, where he shoots out long bands of cum all over the flawless skin of Adam's back. Adam relishes in the hot, damp feeling. The evidence of Nigel's pleasure all over him. He feels possessed and marked. Adam smiles against the table, absolutely sated.

 

***

After having cleaned up and locked the office, Adam and Nigel leave the tennis center together in Nigel's car.

Later, at a stop light, Nigel looks over at Adam, and addresses the day's events. “So that was...that was really incredible Adam. Thank you. I know how hard you must have worked to get the clothes and the act and the timing just right. To say that I had a spectacular Saturday afternoon would be a vast understatement.” Nigel then takes Adam's hand into his and kisses it.

“You're welcome Nigel. Now, please when you think of hot sex with virgins, please just think of 'Brian',” Adam says leaning his head back against the seat headrest.

“I don't know how I'm going to stop thinking about him, honestly! What kind of virgin fucks his coach within hours of meeting!” Nigel says emphatically.

“Nigel!” Adam chides.

“Do you think he'll be available next weekend? He never did personally show me if he mastered his Western grip.”

They both laugh loudly, and speed off home as the light turns green.

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic ever, yay! Hope you enjoyed our favorite cursing Romanian and adorable spaceman's role-playing tennis romp, I certainly enjoyed writing it! Thank you to the [Hannibal Cre-ate-ive](http://hannibalcreative.tumblr.com/) for hosting this inspiring event, #JustFuckMeUp, enticing me into writing the most adorable kink I could think of.
> 
> Beta-d by the wonderful Llewcie! Thank you so much for your encouragement and support. Love you, bb!


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